


To Not Become a Monster

by NeoSoul



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bulimia, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Depression, Eating Disorders, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-06-24 12:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19724080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoSoul/pseuds/NeoSoul
Summary: The Mark of Cain is fast-changing Dean,and he's fighting with everything to change himself, but finds only a few things can really keep him from losing himself.And they can kill him just as fast, but he's too scared to change.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so uh  
> now I'm on s12 - Sam no longer gives vibes, but Dean, ohh man.  
> I'm exploring this now, because it's all there, Mark of Cain and The Darkness are giving real BN vibes  
> Idk  
> i'm prolly projecting  
> but hey - it's fun to write

The Mark of Cain had changed Dean, and it seemed to only get worse. It ate at him - truly, and he was just trying to find ways to cope. They were never good ways to cope. It started with the alcohol - so much of it. He just downed anything he could find, whenever something started to eat at him again. It was a prevention technique, as Sam was hellbent to find something to fix him, but Dean had given up. He just wanted to suppress it for as long as he could, until it would take him over - which would be the smoke sign for anyone to kill him.  
The drinking held him over for a while - it numbed the painful rage that swam inside of his chest. It didn’t feel the greatest, and he started finding himself with higher tolerances than what should be normal. The same effect started to take much longer to even be felt, and it caused far too much pain. He knew that it was starting to do more harm than good.  
It was obvious, when the drinking stopped working. He had killed many more, and many who were completely innocent. It almost didn’t phase him, at least not until after it was done, and once he found it to consume every fiber of his body; he’d just be unable to feel. Numb. He was beginning to lose all control again.  
After drinking; he found binge eating. He had always liked food; especially the greasy and awfully unhealthy kind. It was a thing from childhood; reminded him of home, whatever that could be called. The binging gave him a high he had never felt. It did much more than alcohol ever could. It seemed to actually let him feel something. It wasn’t a good feeling, no, but it was enough to keep the mark in check.  
The first few times, well, he just binged with no consequences. It was addicting, if he was being honest, and horridly so. He just went to grab anything he wanted, and he just ate until he fell asleep.  
It wasn’t until a while in, when, after a long night of far too much food, and a bit of internal crying, as he was unable to cry physically; that he noticed something he couldn’t shake.  
Dean, well, he was always in tune with his body - it hadn’t crossed his mind too much, until now. He noticed that nothing fit quite as well. He wasn’t one to admit it, but he had a fear of gaining weight. It wasn’t crippling, but he definitely didn’t like the concept. It just hadn’t crossed his mind until now. He couldn’t keep doing this - at least not without doing anything. He couldn’t stop - it was the only thing that seemed to keep the mark at bay.  
He wasn’t sure how. He thought fasting would work. Binge, then fast for a few days, and binge again. It was miserable, and Sam got on his case about it. Dean found it annoying; especially with the knowledge of how much he seemed to eat when he did so.  
Fasting didn’t work - sort of. It worked to keep from gaining weight, but he lost none. He started to search for more tactics, but ones that didn’t take as much time, or mental energy.  
He tried laxatives - messy, awfully painful, and ineffective. They just really made him realize he had a lot of unsolved stomach issues.  
Then came the purging. It didn’t feel right - but it got the job done. It started with one night. He was desperate, and he had heard of it being used to get pills out of stomachs after overdosing. It should work the same for food, so he was determined. He headed to the nearest bathroom. He was scared, yes, usually the first of anything was scary. He stood over the toilet bowl, confused on what to do. He knelt down, thinking it might be a better position. It seemed awkward, and not something he would ever do, but here he was.  
Dean found the whole choking on his own finger a bit awkward, but he kept trying. He kept getting spit to come up, but no food it seemed. Awkward as it was, he kept trying, letting out loud coughs and gags. It seemed to echo a bit, but hopefully not downstairs. Cas and Sam were to not get involved. He couldn’t let them know.  
He continued to try, and eventually he got something up. It seemed like a lot, but not all of it. He just let out a sigh of relief. He had never felt such a relief. The pit in his stomach was gone - the pain from the binge as well. It was foolproof.  
The purging - honestly just as addicting as the binging, and it kept the mark in check - just as well.  
He had found his vice. An awful vice - but it should work fine.


	2. Who Cares?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn't care  
> yet Sam still does

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess it's continuing  
> today on "projecting my issues onto characters, and never finishing my fics"

It had started to take a nasty shape. A few months of endless eating and puking has already started to replace every other coping mechanism he had. It had started to take his life over, really. He didn’t find it to be an awful thing, as the mark was subsided. He hadn’t been this calm in weeks. Everyone seemed to notice the change, but he just said he was fighting it. False.  
He knew he this was awful, but really, it was only until the mark left his skin. He would stop, as he would no longer need to keep himself in line.   
Of course, he began to doubt what he was saying. It felt good - to eat everything and then puke it up again. It gave him the power to eat basically whatever; without consequences - which was honestly something he wanted for quite a bit. Food was a vice, and he could satisfy it without the fear of gaining weight.   
The hiding was hard. It seemed Sam kept prying into the change, and wouldn’t give up on removing the mark. Cas always seemed to check in at awful times, but then would leave again before anything could be revealed. Dean didn’t hate that fact about absent Cas. He hated the fact that Cas probably doing something shady, as he tended to do so when he was absent. It did make the whole hiding part easy.   
Dean awoke with a pounding headache, again. He felt awful, but in this life, well that seemed normal. This was just a different level of awful. It wasn’t just the usual odd headache and lack of energy; no, this was a new level. It absolutely was a new low. He could only describe as half-dead-yet-still-kicking. He rubbed his eyes, hoping it would help wake him up, but he found himself just as groggy. He kicked himself from the bed. Standing seemed to be awful, and the longer he stood, the more stars seemed to circle the room. He sighed, and pulled a flannel over his body. He noticed the same clothes from the night before.  
Dean noticed Sam in the kitchen, stressed about something, per usual. He had grown so accustomed to the kitchen environment. He had no appetite, as the night before kept seeping into his mind. Pizza didn’t taste all that good while coming back up - it wasn’t easy either. He kept feeling the awful dough in his throat, which conjunctively made him lose his appetite. He just poured some coffee, hoping it would the secret to waking up.  
It wasn’t, as he suspected. He leaned against a wall, trying to find balance. His legs were shaking the slightest bit, and he couldn’t find it anything but annoying.  
“You don’t look all that good,” Sam pointed out. Dean just looked up, the usual expression of annoyance plastered on his face. “Rough night?” He asked. Dean just groaned.  
“You could say that.” Dean said, before finishing the coffee and going for more.  
“I get you didn’t sleep, but that’s a lot of caffeine in like what? Five minutes?” Sam pointed out. Dean just rolled his eyes.  
“Since when did you become mom?” He stated, sarcastically. Sam just sighed, clearly irritated. It wasn’t an irritation of anger, just frustration.   
“Dean, it’s just caffeine, and too much isn’t all that good for you.” Sam pointed out. Dean just shrugged, and finished inhaling the second cup.  
“Since when do I care about my body?” Dean asked, in a joking tone. Sam just sighed.  
Dean finished the coffee, and tried to slink out of the room.  
“You going to have food with your caffeine?” Sam asked. Dean just stared blankly. He shook his head before quickly escaping the situation. It was awkward for sure, but he had started to ignore the situations; he just worried about himself, and hiding.  
It wasn’t until Sam came back from wherever he had gone - which he definitely seemed to try and keep a secret - that they had found a case. Dean had searched, rabidly, hoping to get out of the bunker, and to get out of his own head. He was desperate for a change, especially because all the local diners and convenience stores were beginning to recognize him. It was awkward, especially with large orders of food that drew looks.   
“I found something close,” Dean stated, as Sam walked back into the bunker. “Few found dead, no forced entry.” He stated, which meant it was another ghost. Dean just groaned. He had to work cases to keep himself sane, but he had no energy to do so.  
“How far?” Sam asked. Dean checked through a GPS.  
“Four hours, about.” Dean explained. Sam nodded, but he seemed almost hesitant, as if he didn’t have that time.  
“Yeah, it should be a quick salt and burn, right?” Sam stated. Dean agreed, and the two headed to the Impala. Dean got into the driver’s seat, and the almost bright red bruising on his knuckles caught his eye. He just made many excuses up in his head, and hoped Sam would believe them.   
He turned the key, and started the trek to a small town in a state town.  
Sam was quiet for a bit, glued to his phone, but Dean felt a gaze upon him, on his knuckles specifically.  
“Dean, what happened to your knuckles?” That was the question, and Sam had said it in the exact way that Dean had predicted. He quickly pulled an excuse.  
“From being shoved into a wall during the last hunt.” Dean stated. It was probably a fine excuse - it made sense, but Dean doubted the lie. Sam was pretty good at seeing through them. He found his cheeks grow hot as he drove.  
“That was gnarly, are you at least cleaning them?” Sam asked. Dean just nodded slowly, hoping the conversation could end.  
“Yeah, mom.” Dean stated, and then went silent. He noticed the look Sam was giving him, a look of pity. It could be for so many things - awful things really. The Mark was one, Sam could’ve cracked his whole eating thing, or it was just the same look as always. Dean couldn’t crack it, especially with only his peripheral.  
“You’re giving me that look again.” Dean stated, coldly, after about another half hour of silence.  
“I’m just...I wish you’d fight more to get rid of The Mark; like, you’ve given up.” Sam said, his voice dropping. Dean knew how much he wanted it gone too, but with the stupid spell book - it would end horribly.  
“Yeah, but there’s no other way, is there?” Dean pointed out. Sam took a breath, but his shoulders dropped.  
“There probably is, but you’ve just given up, and it’s just getting worse,” Sam stated. Dean found himself taking sharper breaths, as the rage started to build. “You’ve been calm, yes, but Cas affirmed that you’re only getting worse.” Sam explained, and Dean just tried to keep himself from losing it. This was usually the point where he’d go out and buy too much food, eat it all, and puke it up. He couldn’t now, but once they got to wherever they were staying, he could probably sneak out before the night was over. He just had to get through the last two hours of the drive.  
It was only two hours, and then he could fill the pit. He could get what basically was his fix. He felt like an addict, but to his own self-destruction.


	3. Stuff Happens

Killing Cain had shredded all of Dean’s sense of himself. Everything that had been said seemed to haunt him. It seemed he came back to the bunker with nothing - especially nothing that exuded hope.  
Sam tried to convince him that hope seemed to exude from it all - Dean had to disagree. He was lost, and with that he ran to the car and grab as much food as he could before it would seem suspicious to be gone.  
He got back to the bunker with a plastic bag full of far too much. Sam was eyeing the bag with the same concerned face. Dean just threw himself into one of the chairs by the table, and chucked the bag onto the table. He found himself growing more numb than usual, and with that feeling growing, he pulled the bag towards him, and with a growing haste, he tore into the food. It was much to Sam’s dismay, and Dean couldn’t help but notice a look of confusion on Sam’s face.  
“What?” Dean asked, his voice muffled after taking a rather large bite food. Sam just shook his head.  
“I just question where it all goes, you know - so much food, but you’re somehow smaller.” Sam pointed out. Dean shoved another piece of a burger into his mouth, and gave Sam a bit of a look.  
“I’m blessed with a good metabolism?” Dean said, sass completely present in his voice. Sam took the answer, much to Dean’s relief, and went back to what he was doing.   
He shoved the rest of his food into his mouth, and escaped the table. He went into the bathroom, and tried to mask the sound with some form of running water. The sink had worked fine so far, so he turned the knob, and water started pouring. Dean leaned over one of the furthest toilets, as he learned that kneeling made it harder, and just quickly shoved his fingers down his throat. It had become a fast action; in and out, just a quick relief that had to be done far too often. The effects had grown shorter, and he needed to do it far more often to get any of the same effects.  
Dean noticed the way his face seemed awfully sick. His skin was washed out and his eyes were dark. It wasn’t far off from the usual look; there was just something more pronounced about it. It was easily seen, but at least he could use illness as an excuse for now. If he would lose more weight, well, he would have to start finding other ways to hide.   
The night seemed so full of nightmares - he couldn’t seem to shut his mind off. It seemed to continuously rage - images shot through, and far too many.   
Dean just gave up on sleep, and he just ended up sitting in his bed, on his laptop. He spent far too long in the dark, his eyes fixed on a screen, while a headache began to brew.   
He felt alone, as if the void was just opening itself up again. The effects of the food had worn off. He was both numb and consumed by every feeling he could feel. The only way he could ever feel ok was to eat and puke until he fell asleep in the bathroom, again.   
Dean got up from his bed, took his laptop with him, and snuck into the kitchen. He scrounged as much as he possibly could, and took it into the bathroom - his laptop was underneath his armpit.  
The cold tile floor was not a pleasant feeling to be met with, but Dean couldn’t care less. He continued the show he had been watching earlier, and shoved food into his mouth quick enough to barely taste it. It seemed ridiculous, and he could barely take in any part of his surroundings. If he were to be found, well, he wouldn’t know.  
Dean had finished the mass of food, and felt the pain that came from his ribs. It was a usual pain, the pain of being far too full, but it was temporary, and Dean leaned over the toilet bowl, and shoved his fingers into his throat to puke it all back out.  
It was easier now, much easier. He had spent little time over the toilet, and it had all come back out. He found his mind starting to ease, and he found himself passing out as he finished flushing the toilet.  
The morning came with an absolutely freezing splash of water on his face. Dean snapped awake, only to see Sam standing over him.  
“Seriously?” Dean asked, pissed. Sam cracked a small smile, but his eyes gave most of it away. There was no humor, just a lot of fear.  
“Had to make sure you were alive. Why’d you end up here anyway?” Sam asked. Dean found his heart beating faster, and he tripped over his words.  
“I...felt sick, and I guess I passed out right after.” Dean lied. He blinked a couple times, just to regain a sense of himself.  
“Are you alright? You look horrible.” Sam pointed out. Dean just grunted as he got off of the floor. His balance seemed off, but after sleeping in an awfully uncomfortable fetal position, that was to be expected.   
“Groovy.” Dean stated, the usual sass plastered on his face. Sam audibly inhaled. Frustrations seemed to drift throughout the room.  
“You’re definitely not.” Sam stated, and Dean washed his mouth from the awful taste of acid - the one day old acid.  
“I’m fine.” Dean stated, again, as he walked downstairs. Sam followed him.  
“You’re still lying.” Sam stated, authority rang through the statement. Dean just ignored the statement, and kept walking.  
“I said, I’m fine.” Dean called, anger began to course through his body. He had made it to the kitchen with Sam sprinting behind. It was like having a personal therapist trailing behind, trying to find something wrong.   
The tension remained as Dean poured coffee. He had slept, yes, but a cold bathroom floor just didn’t really make a great bed. He had slept horridly.  
“You’re still lying, you’re really not that good at lying, at all.” Sam stated, and Dean just took a long sip of coffee.   
“I killed Cain. I’m allowed to be a wreck for a bit, right?” Dean confessed. Sam sat at the table with some form of rabbit food, that almost made Dean gag. He couldn’t fathom living on only that.  
“Do you want to talk?” Sam asked. Dean spat the coffee out.   
“No.” He stated, coldly. He took another sip, hoping it would wake him up.  
“Are you sure, it’s basically eating at you.” Sam observed, but Dean ignored him. He looked over to a shelf. Pancake mix was in his line of vision, and he couldn’t help but smile. The same awful idea came over him.  
“I’m sure,” Dean stated, as he walked to the mix. “More like, I’m eating it.” He mumbled.


	4. Cas, Get outta my Ass

It wasn’t easy to hide, not anymore. Dean had started to grow worse with the longer absences of Sam and Cas.   
He was dwelling awfully on the rage induced episode - where he had almost killed Cas. It started to burn into his psyche. He couldn’t cope with himself. He could barely get out of bed when he was left alone.   
Sam was gone, again.   
Dean feared the lies, especially when Sam left for days at a time. Something was up - but Dean was far too scared to even leave the bunker, especially after the whole almost killing Cas thing. He couldn’t bare to lash out again. It would tear him to the ground.  
It seemed every moment he spent alone was also spent wallowing in the guilt of all the things he had done with the mark. It felt awful, and with all of the guilt came the habits. He would go out some nights and just grab what he could from surrounding places, sit in the bathroom with a laptop, and eat and puke until he would pass out.   
Sam had found him numerous times, and somehow Dean could still just lie about it.   
He was sick.  
Hangover.  
The Mark of Cain.  
Everything but eating issues. It seemed sort of ridiculous, but Dean was thankful for it. He couldn’t seem to cope without the long nights of self destruction… self destruction that still couldn’t kill him. One of the only perks that came with the mark.   
Dean found that he wanted to die, and he wanted to just off himself, but it seemed the Mark wouldn’t do that. It just kept healing the internal damage he was causing, yet somehow Dean was convinced that this could be a way to kill himself - a frankly stupid way.   
Dean was awake with another awful headache, but to his surprise, he was in his own bed instead of the cold bathroom floor. He found himself spooked by a familiar feeling - as if someone was watching him, which sent him into panic mode immediately. He cocked a gun into some direction.  
“Who’s there?” He said, fearful, and from the shadows stepped Cas, in the same familiar trench coat. Dean sighed.   
“Why’d you come back?” Dean asked, his voice soft. He was scared - completely terrified, after the last time he had been in a room alone with Cas.  
“You haven’t left the bunker in days, for anything.” Cas pointed out, and Dean found more of himself poking through the wall that seemed to only be of rage.  
“It’s safety, so that I don’t do anything stupid.” Dean explained, he was tired. The whole being stared down while sleeping wasn’t a helpful concept.  
“Something is wrong, Dean. Sam told me about your past few weeks, and how he keeps finding you.” Cas explained, almost a hint of worry in his voice. Dean could tell something was hurting Cas, and that it was heavy, because Cas barely emoted.   
“It’s nothing, really. Some stupid decisions and a hangover, ok.” Dean stated, his voice rising in frustration. He found his heartbeat begin to speed up, but in an awkward way. It would skip beats every once in a while.  
“Yet you’re pale and those bruises tend to show up much better,” Cas pointed out. “The open sore on the right really gives it away.”   
Dean just shoved his knuckles under the blanket, as if anyone could see them anyway, in the dark. He just seemed to go red, which again was probably not to be seen in the dark, but Cas could probably notice.  
“It’s fine. I’m fine. It keeps me from going all dark-side on people, Cas. I can’t stop, not now.” Dean confessed, the dark was hiding the shame that started to fall across him. He was terrified of being confronted, and with that, by the one person who really saw through the lies.  
“This can kill you, Dean.” Cas bluntly explained. Dean just shrugged.  
“Not with the mark, it just somehow keeps me beating.” Dean explained, excusing himself. He had given up on most anything, especially on getting better.  
“What happens when it’s off? You’ll just deal with all the consequences then?” Cas pointed out, a firm grip was in his voice. Dean just shrugged.  
“I’ll cross that bridge if I get there, and right now, it’s not happening.” Dean explained, and he found himself almost to the point where food would be the only way to help himself. It was that terrifying part of this whole thing, the decision to break himself more. Tension rising in his chest, and the hunger that seemed to intensify after hours of no appetite. Extreme hunger.  
“Do you plan to stop?” Cas asked, and Dean just pulled some food out of a bag from under his bed, which seemed to pretty much just be a storage space for all the junk that Dean liked to overconsume.  
“No.” Dean stated, bluntly, as his mouth was full of some day-old burger from a gas station. His stomach had seemed to take the hint of food, and he already started feel sick.   
Disappointment came from Cas, an audible breath and a visible drop in his shoulders. Dean just swallowed the bite he had taken, and started to open his mouth for defense, but Cas stopped him.  
“At all? Even with the fact that this has possessed you? If Sam found out? If this was the time you’d remain dead?” Cas asked. Dean just shoved a handful of chips into his mouth.  
“Yeah, no. It makes me feel good, and it’s not as awful as alcohol.” Dean said, and he started to make the trek to the bathroom, with Cas following him, pestering about all the damage that could happen.  
Dean felt invincible, hell right now, he was invincible, so it didn’t matter, nothing mattered.  
He just quickly shoved his fingers into his throat, and did the same stupid thing. The food came up easy, even the carbs, which liked to be annoying. He had just become prolific at puking.  
Cas shoved the door open, and Dean just stood, back to Cas, halfway done. Food remained, yet he was being distracted.  
It had to get out, and remain out. Frustration came back, and Dean found his body shaking, on the ground, in a pair of boxers.  
“Dean, stop, please.” Cas seemed to almost plead. Dean took a sharp inhale, the puke still on his fingers, and even dripping from his lips.  
“Go, before the high drops.” Dean stated firmly - terrified of what he could do, if the mark gained control. Cas seemed firm, and Dean just sighed. He washed his mouth from the acid, and caught a glimpse of his own face in the mirror. He noticed the way his teeth had started to rot out of his head, which he assumed was something the mark couldn’t care for.  
“It only gets better if you stop.” Cas pointed out, which spooked Dean. He had forgotten about the fact that Cas had just witnessed the entire thing.  
“Not right now Cas, I just want to sleep,” Dean said, and as Cas walked beside him, he just sighed. “Don’t watch me while I sleep, or tell Sam about tonight. Please.” Dean said, almost begging.  
He was terrified enough as is, but if Sam knew, it would be a new monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello - I have writer's block on my book, so guess i'm updating these bois until I get over that


	5. It's Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas figures more out

It seemed to all have ended, just as it began. Dean had unleashed another evil just as the last one had been brought down.  
He had killed Death, and with that somehow lost the mark. The only downside was the unleashing of the Darkness. Guilt was basically the only thing he could feel, even though he was not at fault. He felt responsible for everything - and it seemed to tear into him.  
This made everything worse. He no longer had the protection of the mark, which made him vulnerable to the damage he had caused during the moments of invincibility. He hadn’t noticed the small parts. The way his stomach would just be in awful pain after he puked, and it wouldn’t go away. There were consequences that he had never really felt, and it seemed things were falling apart.  
He had promised that he would stop; he promised Cas that he would stop once the mark was gone, but it just felt right. He couldn’t just go back to the alcohol after all of this - this was his new form of coping. Awful yes, but it worked so much better than anything else. Dean couldn’t let it go.  
Sam had his own suspicions, but they were all easy to get out of. Dean had started to hide it much better. He no longer passed out on the bathroom floor, it was all just either puking when Sam was busy, or late night runs into the woods, and knowing the signs before he would pass out.  
It wasn’t ideal, but he found it to work. There wasn’t as much guilt if he could destroy himself for everything he’d done.  
It was another stupid late night. Dean had himself over the same corner toilet, after the encounter with the fast-aging Amara. He couldn’t help but feel responsible for the souls that were lost, but there was nothing he could do, really. All he felt he could do was punish himself for it.  
He found himself just sitting for a while. He had puked a lot of garbage up, but didn’t have the energy to really do much about it. It was another night absent of Sam, and the only one he feared was Cas, who seemed like a parent, constant lectures on why it’s all dangerous. It seemed to always happen when Dean had defeated himself, which left no energy for arguing.  
He just leaned against the cold wall, his nose got wafts of the awful puke smell, but it seemed he had grown accustomed to it. It didn’t phase him, really.   
Dean hadn’t noticed the slight bleeding of his knuckles. It wasn’t big, but it stung quite a bit once he took notice to it. He quickly placed some toilet paper on it, to try and stop the bleeding, but it just soaked through. He sighed, and just went to rinse his mouth, the bleeding would stop eventually.  
“You’re bleeding.” A voice came from behind him, a very familiar harshness to it. He found Cas standing behind him.  
“Jeez Cas,” Dean spooked, and he quickly turned the water off. He turned to face Cas. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”  
“Sorry, I just wanted to check up on you,” Cas stated, and motioned for Dean’s knuckle. “You’re not doing too well at all. Quite the opposite actually.” Castiel pointed out, as he healed the scab.  
“It’s none of your business.” Dean stated, quietly. He began to hunch his shoulders, in an odd attempt to protect himself.  
“It’s definitely hurting you, Dean. Physically and mentally.” Cas informed him. Dean just sighed, and went to flush the puke down the toilet. Cas seemed to follow like a lost puppy, much to Dean’s dismay.   
Dean hadn’t noticed the odd red that was mixed with the mess of puke, but it stood out like a sore thumb, and Cas had absolutely seen it. Dean wasn’t fast enough to hide it.  
“That was blood.” Cas stated. Dean quickly shook his head, trying to defend himself.  
“No it’s not.” Dean quickly stated, trying to defend himself, but he knew that Cas knew. Hiding was pointless.  
“Yes. It was.” Cas stated, bluntly. Dean found his heartbeat speeding up. If Cas knew, well, he’d probably tell Sam, and if Sam knew...Dean was toast.  
“Just...just don’t tell Sam.” Dean stated, his voice softening. He was scared. His habits weren’t as easy to hide anymore.  
“You will kill yourself, if you don’t stop this.” Cas stated, his voice showing the slightest hint of emotion - which meant it was a dire situation, at least to Cas.  
“Yeah, like it’s that easy.” Dean exclaimed, now basically pinned against the mirror.  
“It’s not?” Cas asked, suddenly confused. Dean just sighed.  
“If it were, do you think...do you I’d keep doing it?” Dean pointed out, his voice dropped from defeat.   
“No, sorry. I’m just worried about all of it.” Cas said. Dean found the lack of empathy in his voice to be comforting. There was no anger nor sadness, just the words. Dean started to walk back to his room, but stopped before heading back to his room.  
“Yeah, I know. I feel fine, so don’t tell Sam.” Dean said, as he went back to his usual stubborn self. He left Cas in the dust before more protesting could awake Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writers block on the stories I use to get over writer's block lol


	6. Unsure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam figures it out

Dean was trudging into the kitchen, his legs felt heavy and there was a tiny pain in his throat. It didn’t feel urgent, and was probably related to the blood for sure. The encounter with Cas left his privacy feeling real violated, and Dean assumed that something had been told to Sam. Cas was an awful liar.  
He needed coffee, or anything that would give him some form of energy, that isn’t food. Food would just send him hurling. He went to make some, hoping that he wouldn’t run into Sam.   
The caffeine seemed to help him. It made him feel like a human being for a couple of moments. The rush faded quickly, and he was left with the same heavy feeling in his body. He slumped his back into the concrete wall. He had to act as casual as possible, especially around Sam, if he wanted to remain stealthy.   
He poured another cup of coffee, just to keep himself from falling apart, and found himself completely still, as he heard footsteps. His lips pursed on the cup as Sam walked in. He did a double take, as Dean slowly inhaled the liquid.  
“Want some food with the caffeine?” Sam pointed out. Dean quickly pulled the mug from his lips. He had a usual smug expression on his face, hoping to basically sass Sam away from it all.  
“I’m fine.” Dean stated. He finished the coffee, and went to place the mug in the sink. If he lied through this, it’d be great, but that was kind of hard when Cas was supposedly involved. Dean shifted his weight between his heels and toes, to contain the anxiety.  
“Yeah, except, you didn’t exactly eat yesterday either.” Sam pointed out. Dean stopped. His heart rate had started to increase, and he braced himself for the question.   
Silence, and this felt like the point where Dean gets defensive.  
“The whole Darkness thing has me wrapped up, not much time for food.” Dean lied. He prepared himself to escape the room, but Sam seemed to stop him.  
“Cas...told me.” Sam said, quietly. Dean stopped in his tracks, but he couldn’t turn. He didn’t want to meet eyes.   
“He told you what?” Dean asked; trying to play stupid - hoping to downplay the situation. Once Sam knew, it basically meant free (and terrible) therapy...that only really was an interrogation before they never spoke of it again.   
It just made Dean uneasy, to know that Sam knows.  
“About the blood.” Sam stated. Dean’s shoulders visibly raised, as stress began to flow through his veins.  
“I told him not to.” Dean said, quietly. He was scared now - he had dreamed of this day, but never thought it’d come.   
“He told me not to tell you that he told me,” Sam stated, coldly. “But with what he said, I couldn’t ignore it.” Sam explained. Dean was basically crumbling internally - this was it, his life was over at this moment.  
“What’d he say?” Dean asked, quietly.  
“That you were sick, and he found you puking up blood.” Sam explained. Dean pulled a stool from a counter, and sat, his back still facing Sam. The worry in Sam’s voice was hard enough to hear.  
“Yeah, maybe I’m just sick.” Dean said, hoping to excuse himself.  
“That’s what Cas predicted, but he kept telling me it was bad, real bad,” Sam stated. The room fell quiet, and Dean sighed audibly, as the whole silence thing was worse than an intervention. “That you’re doing it to yourself.” Sam finally choked out, his voice definitely at the edge of tears. Dean remained silent, trying to figure the best way to get out of it all.   
“No. I’m not.” Dean stated; still trying to lie his way out of it, even though he knew it would probably fall short. It was better to try than to just give up.  
“Cas seemed pretty sure you were, Dean.” Sam stated. Dean slowly began to realize that this was not something he could get out of. Cas didn’t lie, so Dean couldn’t try and change the story - he knew Cas had watched him both binge and purge.   
“So?” Dean said. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say at all. No words would come with the weight on his shoulders.  
“So? Well, he didn’t tell me what it was, but that it was dangerous.” Sam pointed out. Dean squirmed in the chair, his back still towards Sam - terrified of seeing him in the moment. He knew what this was. (Bulimia). At least that’s what google said (Bulimia). Cas may just not have much knowledge on mental illness, and this wasn’t quite like anything he’d seen before (Bulimia). So Dean just had to keep the knowledge that it wasn’t physical from everyone. He just had to take it in the ass and accept that he indeed had an eating disorder, and it wasn’t just a harmless little habit.  
“He didn’t know what it was.” Dean pointed out, quietly.  
“What do we do? I can’t just let you keep going, especially if Cas was right, and you ended up puking up blood.” Sam pointed out, much to Dean’s dismay. Dean couldn’t argue, the blood scared him as well. He just wasn’t ready to stop this - frankly he was addicted. Maybe it was the post-purge high, or the binging, maybe the small drops in weight that added up over time. It was satisfying to him, and he wasn’t quite yet sure why.  
It gave him some sense of himself - a sick sense of self, but it was a part of himself that seemed to remain stagnant through all the garbage he’d been through.  
“I can’t stop.” Dean stated, breaking the pause. His voice still remained quiet. The atmosphere in the room was just awful. It reeked of confusion, and unnecessary anger.  
“What do you mean you can’t stop?” Sam asked. Dean could tell there was anger boiling, but energy was given to try and not let it boil over.  
“I just...I’ve tried. It just got worse, you know.” Dean stated. The anxiety was causing his hands to shake, mainly from the anxiety. He thought it was strange, as the secret was out, but apparently not completely.  
“So what do we do? I don’t know what you’re feeling, or what this is. I know that this is eating you; I can see it.” Sam pointed out. Dean shrugged, and he hoped Cas would just appear, so the tension could be relieved. He hated it, as he didn’t know what to do at all. He could barely fathom not having this as a coping mechanism. It was the one thing that seemed to remind of his humanity.  
“I already said that I don’t know.” Dean stated, and footsteps seemed to come close to the room, which meant that Cas had heard the call.  
“He’s not lying.” Cas said, as he walked into the kitchen. Dean felt some relief. A third person meant that someone could moderate the impending screaming match.   
Cas stood in the middle of the two, confused.  
“I thought I said to not tell Sam.” Dean pointed out.  
“I couldn’t let it slide. Dean, you know this is dangerous.” Cas redundantly pointed out.   
“As you’ve told me many times, doesn’t change anything.” Dean said, coldly. He felt his fingers shake a bit more, as the atmosphere went back to the awful anxiety.  
“So what do we do?” Sam asked, Cas just paced, his face just as confused.  
“I don’t know. I’m not great with mental health.” Cas pointed out.   
“So you don’t know what it is?” Sam asked.  
“No.”   
“What about the blood.” Sam asked, quietly.  
“Could be a lot of things, but I’m useless here.” Cas stated.  
“So what should happen?”   
“Get a diagnosis - maybe an actual doctor?” Cas suggested. Dean froze at the mention of legit medical professionals. He never had a good time with them - always trying to pry into his life with stupid questions that didn’t matter.   
So he hated the suggestion.  
“No.” Dean said.  
“No one else knows what to do. What other option is there?” Sam pointed out. Dean hated it, but he had to agree. He really didn’t want to ask Crowley for help, obviously, and no one else was really that close to them. As much as he hated it, it was his only option.  
“I hate it, I really do, but I guess you’re right.” Dean stated, admitting defeat. His shoulders dropped with his defenses.  
He was stubborn, yes, but he also had some dignity. Being found dead over the bunker toilet was not how he wanted to go, especially not with Billy around. That would be an awful scene.  
While Sam seemed preoccupied with helping him; Dean snuck off into his room. He found the whole intervention far too intense - so he went to find the hidden stash of garbage food in his dresser, and ate just enough to feel the discomfort.  
“So you’re going again?” Cas asked, shocking Dean, who was about to leave his room.  
“Yeah, I am.” Dean stated, coldly, which left Cas with a confused look on his face.  
“Even after talking?” He asked. Dean just sighed.  
“Because of the talking.” He said, and then headed to the bathroom again, as Cas followed him.  
“Because I told Sam?” Cas asked. Dean walked faster, hoping that Cas would stop nosing.  
“No.” Dean said, and then stopped in front of the bathroom. His hands shook as he opened the door. Cas was still following him, awkwardly. He didn’t want to purge in front of Cas, but he also couldn’t just not purge. He walked into the bathroom, and as predicted, Cas just followed.  
“So it’s because of stress?” Cas asked, curiously. Dean locked the stall, hoping to mask Cas from the awful parts of it. Eating was eating, but puking was awful. It wasn’t a fun sight to watch, or experience.  
“No.” Dean stated, and shoved his fingers into his throat. He got some food up, as it had almost grown too easy. The sound probably got to Cas, as it wasn’t the most beautiful thing.  
“You know, maybe if you let yourself be sad-” Cas suggested. Dean just sighed between puking.  
“No.” He stated from the stall, and puked a second time, and hopefully the last time.  
“I just want to help.” Cas pointed out. Dean got out of the stall, and went to wash the taste from his tongue. It was one of the best moments, as the acid had a rancid taste.  
“Well, it’s not helping right now.” Dean said, and then fell back to the sink, defeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback would be helpful   
> Let me know thoughts  
> :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is basically a worried brother (parent)

Cas attached himself to Dean’s hip.  
He seemed to follow Dean every which way, and it was absolutely irritating. Dean didn’t really change. He did do it less, but that was mainly because Cas wouldn’t leave him be. The questions would just flow, especially when Dean was over any toilet, or even just in the bushes. It was odd, but Dean almost stopped caring. It was awkward, yes, to have the angel on your shoulder question the most shameful habit you had, but even through all the frustrations - Dean was almost thankful that Cas was there. If something would happen, well, he wouldn’t die alone with his head in a toilet bowl.  
Sam got on Dean’s case basically every time Dean had food either in his mouth or close to him; which was a lot of the time. Dean sometimes didn’t realize that he basically started to use food for any minor inconvenience, and if he ate the food, well he puked it; except maybe some small meals that either Cas or Sam forced him to keep him down. It wasn’t ever anything he really feared, but some days, Dean just didn’t have the mental energy to keep anything down. He felt like he was going crazy.  
Sometimes, Cas would heal him, but it only helped some of the physical ailments that just came back a few days later.  
Dean dragged his body into the kitchen, to make the usual coffee. It was one of the only things that made him feel almost human, and even then it would only last a moment. He noticed the awkward weight on his body. He felt heavy, and part of him began to panic, as if he might have gained weight.  
He basically slumped as he sat at the counter. His body didn’t feel like a body; just a weight.  
Sam walked in close behind, with Cas, and Dean just sighed. He laid his head into his arm with defeat.  
The smell of food began to waft, and he noticed how he already had started to feel nauseous. His body had just gotten so used to everything coming up, so now it was just something his body expected. If food was in the room, he’d end up puking a bit later.  
Sam slid some plate in front of Dean, who just looked up from the flannel that his face had been buried in.  
“It’s a stack of two pancakes, it won’t hurt.” Sam explained. Dean just rolled his eyes, and turned his head away from Sam’s own bowl of oats.  
“Not hungry.” Dean lied. He was hungry, awfully so, and it almost hurt. There was pain, but if he had inflicted it on himself, well it wasn’t one that hurt. It almost felt good.  
“Dean, c’mon, at least something.” Sam suggested, but Dean just groaned again.  
“I said I’m fine.” Dean mumbled into his sleeve - the uneasiness in his stomach seemed to grow.  
Dean wanted the food, he did, but it seemed he just couldn’t seem to get himself to do so, while knowing full-well that he would consume much more later, with the grand idea of throwing up afterwards. He seemed to confuse himself with the constant conflicts. The part that wanted to get better, and the part that just wanted to do nothing but completely screw himself over.  
It took a minute, but Dean looked up from his forearms, and the same plain stack of pancakes remained in front of him. Almost taunting him.  
“Seriously Dean. You’ve somehow lost more weight.” Sam pointed out, which caused Dean to go red.  
“Stress, the whole Darkness thing doesn’t really help this.” Dean said, making excuses, yet he knew that no one believed anything. He was just spouting nothing.  
“Dean.” Cas spoke his first word of the daily intervention. It was stern, and Dean noticed the absolute subtle hints of disappointment.  
“Look, I said I was fine.” Dean stated, and he stood in a frustrated fashion, before retreating to his bedroom. Guilt running through his body.  
He was very much surprised by Cas, who had appeared in his room.  
“Hey, you’re definitely not fine.” Cas pointed out. Dean found it almost hilarious that Cas just now had picked up on it.  
“No, I’m great, ecstatic even that I can’t even eat a damn pancake.” Dean stated, sarcastically.  
“So, you’re happy with this?” Cas asked, not picking up on the sarcasm, which was now just something they seemed to expect.  
“No, obviously I’m not. I’m the exact opposite of ok,” Dean said, and there was a knock on the door. “It’s open, Sam.” Dean called, frustrated. Sam walked in clearly distraught. It was an odd image. Another stupid intervention that Dean totally didn’t expect.  
“I’m sorry,” Sam stated, quietly. Dean just looked up, as he sat on the edge of his bed. He was utterly overwhelmed. “I shouldn’t have forced it upon you.” Sam stated. Dean let out another sigh.  
“It’s fine. I get it, you’re worried.” Dean said; he noticed the tears that had already formed in Sam’s eyes. The guilt in his throat rose.  
“It doesn’t change the fact that you do need food. Anything that stays down, please.” Sam asked. Dean just picked at a scab on his knuckles, trying to avoid the awkward eye contact.   
“Yeah, I know. Do you think I’m stupid?” Dean asked, which caused Sam to get defensive, but it seemed he knew that this wasn’t one of those times. Dean sort of knew as well, but sarcasm was his way of speaking. It got him in trouble far more than it would ever save him.  
“Sorry, I’m just...I guess I’m just worried about it all, and I’m sure Cas is as well.” Sam pointed out, and Dean just looked towards Cas. The angel just stood awkwardly in a corner.  
“I get it, but seriously, this feels like one of those stupid TV shows. Everyone’s worried, and it just makes it worse.” Dean pointed out.  
“Then what do we do? This isn’t like alcohol, you need food no matter if you’re doing this or not.” Sam said. Dean just sighed. He wasn’t sure, but at this point, something real would be better than Sam doing the therapy.

**Author's Note:**

> it's short - soz  
> but first chapters tend to be


End file.
